


Midnight Majesty

by Elldritch



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, Other, Post-Canon, genderfeels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26267245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elldritch/pseuds/Elldritch
Summary: *Spoilers for Harrow the Ninth*Gideon and Harrow are living their happily ever after, but something has been bothering Harrow.Based on this prompt: Gideon only likes girls. Harrow knows that. She also knows that she, herself, may *look* like a girl, but she doesn't always *feel* like one. Not uncommon across the worlds, but she's uncertain, and a little insecure, as to how Gideon may react to learning it: it's something they've never really discussed.
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 17
Kudos: 118





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Trialia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trialia/gifts).



“What shall we do today, my midnight queen?” Gideon asked, rolling over in bed to face Harrow. To her surprise, Harrow didn’t respond, but curled up tighter within the blankets, until she was a faceless cocoon of bedding.

“What’s wrong? Aren’t you feeling well?” Gideon wasn’t sure that lyctors could get sick - certainly she hadn’t had so much as a sniffle since they’d achieved lyctorhood together. But then, she hadn’t really gotten sick much before that either. She supposed there were some perks to being the daughter of a god, even if that god had been a total dick.

Whatever response Harrow gave was muffled by layers of fabric, and Gideon started to feel actually concerned. Getting Harrow to sleep, regularly, and for a sensible length of time, was definitely a work in progress, and Gideon usually had to lure her into bed with a promise of sex - not that she minded _that_ in the slightest - but it was completely out of character for Harrow to spend more time in bed than was absolutely necessary, when there was a whole universe out there full of necromantic bullshit for her to mess with. 

“I can’t hear you,” Gideon said, wondering if she should try to worm her way into the blankets with Harrow, or if that would make things worse. She tried to think back - was there anything that would be bothering her? The sex the night before hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary for them - which was to say, it had been fucking fantastic. Or fantastic fucking? Hell, it had been both. Certainly nothing to be upset about, and nothing they hadn’t done a hundred times before. 

Well, 137 to be exact, not that Gideon was counting _on purpose_ , because that would be weird, but between pretending to hate each other for years, and then Canaan House, and then dying, and living in Harrow’s brain for ages, and finally getting her body back, and overthrowing the empire and… well, Gideon had waited a long-ass time to get to the point where they could just wake up together each morning, and go to bed together each night, and she wasn’t going to take any of it for granted.

“I’m not feeling much like a queen today,” Harrow said again, this time loud enough for Gideon to hear, but still sounding utterly wretched. 

“If you’re not feeling well, we don’t have to do anything, we can just stay right here. I could make you soup.” Gideon thought a moment. “Well, maybe not _soup_ , because I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to deal with soup again _,_ but something comforting.”

“I’m not sick,” Harrow said, sounding more hesitant than she had, since before they’d finally talked everything over, and realised that they were actually madly in love (perhaps with an unhealthy dose of the ‘madly’, but whatever. They had time - literal millennia - to work on that). 

“What’s up? You know you can talk to me, right?”

Harrow didn’t answer. Shit. This must be bad. Like, ‘ _by the way, I’m made of two hundred murdered children and you were supposed to be number 201_ ’ bad. Maybe worse, since Gideon had come to terms with that one pretty fast, all things considered. 

“Whatever it is, we’ll get through it. Come on, after everything we’ve dealt with? It’ll be okay, I promise.”

“You don’t know that,” Harrow wailed. She _wailed_. Gideon was seriously worried now. Harrow didn’t wail for anything short of a herald - and even then, it was an involuntary physical reaction, and not something which could really be held against her - and the resurrection beasts were all dead, so it couldn’t be that. What the hell was going on?

“But I do know, though? Have some faith, Harrow. I love you, and you love me, and even dying couldn’t mess with that.”

“I looked at your magazines.” Harrow blurted.

“Is this… are you embarrassed about reading porn? I know things were pretty repressed back on the Ninth, but…”

“That’s not it. They’re all…. I mean, everyone is… you only have pictures of women.”

“You want more variety? That’s cool. I don’t get why you’re so worried! Just because I only like girls doesn’t mean I’m going to get all funny if you’ve got broader tastes.” Gideon thought for a moment. If Harrow wanted dude porn, she could have just bought some. It wasn’t like she had to ask Gideon for permission, so why mention it at all? A thought occurred.

“Wait… is there a guy? Do you like a _guy_?” Gideon knew she had a shit-eating-grin on her face, and that she should probably try to do something about that, because Harrow still looked like she was freaking out, but honestly, the thought of Harrow having the hots for someone else was kind of fun. 

If Harrow wanted to go bone some dude (probably _with_ a bone, knowing Harrow), then Gideon didn’t mind that. Once you’ve died for someone, and they’ve given themselves brain damage for you, you sort of move beyond the point of feeling insecure on the commitment front.

Gideon wondered how Harrow and her hypothetical boy toy would feel about Gideon maybe swinging by some time for a peek. She wasn’t into guys _that_ way, but she could appreciate the aesthetics, and Harrow would be hot no matter what.

But she was getting ahead of herself, and Harrow looked more upset than ever. Reassure Harrow now, and then they’d see.

“Who’s the guy?” Gideon asked as gently as she could manage. Harrow didn’t respond for a really, really long time, and Gideon started running through worst-case-scenarios in her head. Was it Palamedes? That would be awkward, sure, since Gideon was pretty sure the chances of both of them putting their books down at the same time, for long enough to get it on, were pretty slim, and that’s if Camilla chilled out long enough to let anyone get within arm’s length of her necromancer, which was by no means guaranteed.

Gideon could understand - people dying did tend to make you a little overprotective when they came back, even if they came back basically invulnerable. It had taken forever for Harrow to stop panicking every time Gideon got so much as a papercut, which was rather inconvenient for someone who spent their days handling blades…

“It’s me. I’m the guy” Harrow said, and all thoughts of Palamedes vanished from Gideon’s brain. She wanted to say something totally chill and reassuring, but all she managed was a confused grunt.

“Well,” Harrow continued, “I don’t know. This is coming out all wrong. Not a guy, maybe. I’m not sure. But I don’t think I’m a woman either, and you only want women, and I want you, so I’ve been trying not to think about it, and then you called me ‘queen’ and it just felt awful. I don’t want to lose you, and I know I’m going to.”

“You won’t lose me,” Gideon said, and she was sure of that much at least. “I don’t… look, can we talk about this? Or do you need some time to figure things out? I love you, and I’m not going anywhere, but I’d like to understand better, if I can.”

“I don’t know if I understand it myself. I’ve been trying really hard to make it go away! But talking might help.” The cocoon moved, and then unwound, revealing a suspiciously red-eyed Harrow. Had she been _crying_? “Hold me?”

Harrow was pretty tactile these days, especially when she - _shit_ , Gideon thought, _I don’t even know how I should be referring to her._ And then, _shit! I did it again! This is going to take some getting used to._ Harrow was pretty tactile now, especially when in need of comfort. Gideon reached out to take her necromancer in her arms. 

“What do I call you?” Gideon asked, “I mean, you don’t like queen. That’s cool! But what about if I’m talking about you, or, you know, thinking about you. Are you he, or, like, they? Or something else?”

“I don’t even know.” Harrow said, disconsolately. “‘They’, maybe? ‘He’ doesn’t feel right. ‘She’ doesn’t either, but it doesn’t _always_ bother me. Some days, though, it makes me queasy.”

“Still the Saint of Emesis?” Gideon tried for a joke, but realised instantly that it had fallen well short when Harrow stiffened in her arms. Harrow didn’t like to remember those dark days, after Gideon had died, and before she’d been reunited with her body. To be honest, Gideon hadn’t really enjoyed those times either, but unlike her necromancer, Gideon didn’t deal with things by making herself forget them. Gideon made jokes. 

She guessed neither strategy was _exactly_ perfect.

“Hey,” Gideon said, infusing her voice with as much warmth as she could, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. I wish you’d talked to me sooner. I hate to think I’ve been making you sad.”

“But you haven’t!” Harrow insisted, “you make me happy! I feel so… _irrational!_ I shouldn’t make a fuss about something like this, when I’m so lucky just to have you.”

“Hey,” Gideon chided, “that wasn’t luck, okay. We both worked too damn hard to call it luck, and we’ll work on this too. It isn’t irrational to say if something bothers you. You really think I’d rather keep hurting you just because it’s easier than thinking about what comes out of my mouth before I say it?”

Harrow raised their chin, from where they’d been burying their face in Gideon’s chest, and gave her a skeptical look.

“Okay, I get that thinking about what I say is going to be a new thing for me, but being a cav doesn’t make me _stupid_ . It’s possible to have both brains and biceps, you know. Have a little faith. Besides. Just think how much fun I’m going to have finding new names for you…. How about _midnight majesty?”_

“You could just call me Harrow.”

“Where’s the fun in that? Unless… does it really bother you, the names?”

“I guess that one was okay.”

“My crepuscular consort?”

“Tolerable. You really do enjoy alliteration, don’t you?”

“Is that something you do with your tongue? Because if so, I’m almost certain the answer is yes.”

“No! Well… technically yes, but get your mind out of the gutter. It means words which start with the same sound.”

“I knew that, I’m just messing with you. I’m really not as stupid as you think I am. Divinity of the dusk.”

“That’s a bit of a mouthful.”

“So am I,” Gideon winked down at Harrow, relieved to see that they were smiling. Then her stomach rumbled.

“How would you feel about breakfast, my sultry sultan?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Oh come on, I’m hungry.”

“Not no to the breakfast. No sultry. No sultan. Neither word is applicable.”

“Fine, okay, that can go on the ‘no’ pile. But breakfast, my spectral sovereign?”

“Breakfast,” Harrow agreed, “but I’m not letting you butter my toast. You’re laying things on _way_ too thick this morning.” 

A startled laugh burst from Gideon’s lungs. “Did you just make a joke? Oh jocular jester of my heart?”

“That’s a no as well.”

“Because you’re actually not funny?” Harrow shot Gideon a withering glare and climbed out of the bed, looking around for their clothes. 

“‘Jester’ sounds too much like ‘gesture’. I’m done being someone else’s hands, or fists, or gestures. From now on I’m just me.”

Gideon was already dressed. Harrow always accused Gideon of throwing their clothes to the furthest corners of the room, whenever they got undressed, just so she could spend more time ogling Harrow’s naked body in the mornings, and look, Harrow wasn’t exactly wrong, but Gideon was also fond of pointing out that Harrow’s all-black clothes did sort of blend into the all-black decor. Maybe one of these days they’d consider wearing a colour. Or redecorating. 

“Hey, how about theyb?” Gideon asked, as Harrow finally located a robe, behind the chair in the corner.

“Did you just have a _stroke_?”

“Theyb. Like babe, but you know, for theys. I thought it was clever.”

“You _would_ think that.”

“Is that a yes?” 

Harrow sighed hugely.

“Fine. But not where anyone can hear you!”


	2. Chapter 2

They ate breakfast mostly in silence, but that was not unusual. Gideon figured it would probably take a few centuries of decent food to wipe away the last horrid memories of snow leeks for every meal, and always going to bed hungry, so in the meantime, she ate with single-minded focus. 

Harrow was equally quiet when eating, but normally just because they were reading a book. They didn’t enjoy eating, which Gideon didn’t get, but figured must just be one of those weird necromancer things, so the best way to get them to consume a reasonable number of calories was to give them something to distract them while eating. 

Gideon couldn’t help but notice that today’s book was about flesh magic, which was unusual. They’d broadened their horizons a lot, and actually did a lot of spirit magic these days, but still had something of a prejudice against flesh magic. Gideon blamed Ianthe, but then, Gideon blamed Ianthe for a lot of things, whether it was fair or not. 

In fact, this wasn’t just a book about flesh magic; from what Gideon could see, it dealt specifically with manipulating and transforming the flesh. Which Gideon guessed meant that she had some thinking to do. 

It had been easy enough to know that she still loved Harrow, whether they were a woman or not. Now Gideon wondered how she’d feel if Harrow changed their body. 

Gideon wasn’t much given to introspection. As far as she was concerned, if she couldn’t fight it, fuck it, or eat it, then it wasn’t worth thinking about. Harrow neatly covered all of those categories though, so Gideon pulled on her thinking cap, and made herself another slice of toast. Thinking was hungry work.

Gideon liked breasts. Harrow didn’t have much in that department to start with, but what they did have, Gideon adored. But she could picture herself running her hands over a flat chest, perhaps with a hint of pectorals - assuming Gideon ever succeeded in getting Harrow to start doing press-ups - and nipples were nipples, right?

Gideon let her mind drift lower, and after a few minutes’ blushing contemplation, Gideon had reached the conclusion that she was pretty certain it was _Harrow_ that she was attracted to, and no amount of dick would change their essential hotness. Apparently it wasn’t just women she liked, after all, and it wasn’t just Harrow who was learning things about themselves today. This hadn’t been what Gideon had been thinking of, when she’d suggested getting more creative in bed, but she could roll with it. 

Now, how to bring it up in a way which wouldn’t make Harrow so embarrassed that they tossed the book out of an airlock? Even after everything, Harrow could still be so prudish. There probably wasn’t a good way to mention it. Gideon would just have to wait for Harrow to come to her.

When Gideon went to the training room, to work out, and practice with her sword, Harrow came along. They didn’t often set foot in that huge, mirrored space, but Gideon liked it when they did. Partly because they could animate skeleton constructs for Gideon to fight - which was a welcome change from training alone - and partly because Harrow had never quite gotten over their surprise at just how epic Gideon was with a blade, and Gideon did so love to be admired. 

She was halfway through her second round of press-ups - _two_ hundred clapping, these days, because being a true lyctor’s cav really did have some bonuses - when Harrow got out of their seat, leaving the book behind, and walked out into the middle of the open space. 

Before Gideon could ask what they were doing, Harrow was lying on the floor, robes a ridiculous fan around them, and - of all things - seemed to be trying to do a press-up too. And getting absolutely nowhere. 

“Harrow?” Gideon asked. 

“What?” Harrow snapped back, sounding out of breath from the sheer effort of lying on the floor achieving nothing whatsoever. “You’re always nagging me about this!”

“Yeah, and I never thought I’d actually get anywhere! Look, if you’re serious about building strength, you can’t start like that. First off, lose the robes…”

“You fought in your robes, in Canaan house,”

“Yeah, and I’m a fucking legend for it. Robes are shit - best case scenario, they just get in your way. Worst case scenario they’re going to trip you up, or get you hurt. Ditch the robe, stand up, and let’s talk incline press-ups. You should be able to manage a few of them.”

When Harrow had worked up an impressive sweat doing far more basic versions of Gideon’s exercises along with her, Gideon insisted that they stop for a drink. It was bizarre seeing her necromancer with a sheen of honest, clear, workout sweat, not the ruddy slick of necromantic blood sweat. 

Bizarre, and totally hot. Gideon found herself watching a drop of sweat trace a path down Harrow’s neck as they drank, and forced herself to snap out of it. It had taken this long to get Harrow here in the first place, and they weren’t going to get very far if Gideon dragged them off to bed every time they worked up a lather.

“At lunch time, we’re going to talk protein.” Gideon said, eyes fixed firmly on Harrow’s face. “If you actually want some muscles, you’re going to need to eat something more than toast and crackers.”

“I’m starving already. I don’t think I’ve ever been this hungry! Is this why you’re nagging me about eating all the time? This is ridiculous.” Harrow sounded cross and perplexed in a way that made Gideon honestly struggle not to laugh. 

“Your necromancy might be able to run on lyctor juice, but for everything else, I’m afraid you’re going to have to consume calories like the rest of us. Why the sudden change of heart? I’ve been begging you for years to lift a weight, and you never have, even though you have to grow yourself extra bones just to open a particularly stiff door.”

“Do not!”

“Yeah you do. Remember that time in the house on that desert planet?” Harrow’s stony silence was a good indication that they did remember.

“Look, come to the kitchen and talk to me. I’ll make it worth your while… how about a chicken sandwich? You’ll like chicken, it doesn’t taste of anything at all. And a sandwich is basically just toast but floppy. You’ll love it, I promise.”

The look Harrow gave Gideon was highly skeptical, but they didn’t resist when Gideon took their hand, and led them to the kitchen. When Gideon sat them down at the kitchen counter, they even seemed to watch with some interest as Gideon started assembling them both a snack.

“Butter?” Gideon asked, hopefully.

“Do I have to?”

“Chicken is great, but it’s very lean. Fat is important too. Come on, just a little bit?”

“Fine.”

True to her word, Gideon applied the barest scraping of butter to the bread for Harrow’s sandwich, though she was much more generous with her own, and also added some lettuce to her sandwich for crunch. She didn’t even bother asking Harrow about the lettuce - baby steps.

Harrow’s first bite was very dubious, which Gideon would have been insulted by, if she hadn’t known that this was how Harrow approached any new food, but after the first bite, Harrow ate with gratifying - and surprising- relish. Gideon didn’t think she’d ever seen Harrow actually enjoy food before.

With a level of restraint that frankly she should have been given a medal for, Gideon waited for Harrow to finish eating, and even - _holy crap, who was this, and what had they done with Gideon’s necromancer?_ \- lick a finger and use it to pick up the crumbs from the plate, before pressing them to talk.

“So?”

“I can’t give you any precise answers,” Harrow responded, sounding disgruntled.

“I’m not asking for a thesis, Nonagesimus, just talk to me.”

“Very well. I have never really thought much about my body, beyond meeting its minimum requirements”

“ _Barest_ minimum,” Gideon interjected. Harrow shot her a glare, but didn’t contradict her. 

“I _had_ thought that my disinterest in my physical body stemmed from a greater concern for perfecting my necromantic powers, and carrying out my duties as the Reverend Daughter,” Harrow’s mouth twisted a little on that last word, “as well as a general distaste for flesh and flesh magic.”

“But…?”

“I may have been hasty in that conclusion. I am starting to think that perhaps my very laudable commitment to the necromantic arts and my congregation may have been… _masking…_ an unconscious desire not to think about or… experience life via... a body I was not comfortable in.”

“So what body do you want? - Spoiler alert, I’ve thought about it, and I’m up for anything, so go for it. Not that you need me to approve, but you were worried, and… look, ignore me, this is about you. What do you want your body to be like?”

“I have no idea.” Harrow said, and then they smiled, and it was so sweet, so purely, nakedly happy, that Gideon’s breath caught in her throat. “But I can’t wait to find out.”


End file.
